Surrounded By Wolves
by Moonunit
Summary: Molly wants to die, can Sherlock help her? Meaning he tries to stop such foolishness and solve the mystery of why! This is a Molly and Sherlock story. Deals with very sensitive subject matter. Please be warned!
1. Chapter 1

Notes: Sorry has not been beta'd. First fanfic story, all mistakes are mine. Sorry.

IMPORTANT WARNING: I do *NOT* own Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, or the delightful Molly. The BBC's 'Sherlock' is fantastic. The wonderful actors who play them belong to themselves! Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffit are awesome! I own nothing! Except for a wild imagination!

Warning: deals with sensitive matters. Very emotional. This work of fiction is a bit dark yet with a light of hope.

Summary: Molly wants to die, can Sherlock help her? Meaning he tries to stop such foolishness and solve the mystery of why!

'What is the meaning of it, Watson?' Said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. 'What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable'…

~The Cardboard Box

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~Part 1~*~

Molly Hooper looked down at the body laid out before her.

"So, is the bruising what you expected?" She asked Sherlock Holmes, who stood across from her to study the bruising with a cold scientific eye. Sherlock had put the bruises on the body. A body who had given itself to science.

"Hmm…Yes. The bruises from the choke hold I had on the corpse turned out beautifully."

Molly studied the bruises closely before lifting her eyes to study Sherlock's face. He really was a handsome, beautiful man. His high intelligence was even more beautiful to her.

He ignored her study of him. Perhaps use to it or perhaps he simply didn't care. Maybe it was both.

"So…I hear you are going on a holiday, Molly? Starting tomorrow?"

Molly forced a smile. "Wow, is this the great Sherlock Holmes attempting to make conversation?"

Now, he looked at her with a little surprise before he gifted her with a small side smile, only then did he inform her, "John told me recently that I needed to seriously work on my conversation skills. I'm told I suck at it. Still not good?"

This time Molly's smile was real for a second anyway.

"No…I mean yes, you are really improving your conversational skills. John will be so proud of you. Really proud."

Sherlock nodded, before leaning over the body to look back at the bruises. He carefully touched them.

"So…Holiday?" Sherlock repeated the question, "Where are you going?"

Molly shrugged, "Nowhere really. I…I think I'll be surprised to be honest."

"A spontaneous holiday doesn't really sound like you but I do hope you get away and enjoy yourself. Perhaps you can bring me back an ashtray."

"I thought you'd gone cold turkey again." Molly questioned curiously.

"Most days I don't need a cigarette, other days I do. Sometimes right after eating a cold turkey sandwich…" Sherlock told her with a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

Molly put her hands into her white lab coat pockets. "Sherlock can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Molly, no matter how stupid it is, please feel free to ask it."

"Do you believe in life after death?" Molly asked softly.

He shot her a look. "No. What would be the point of living this life? What would make this life so damn special or make the lives of others so important? What would be the point to anything and everything that we do? Why bother to look for happiness? Why find cures for sickness? Why be curious? Why solve any problem? If all that happens is to live it all again in another life? Life is what happens in the middle of a book. Birth is the beginning and death is always the end. Sometimes the story in the book is big and other times it's much too small."

"No heaven or hell, then?" Molly questioned still speaking softly, almost thoughtfully.

"As I've stated before religion is for the family idiot." Sherlock stated dryly. "Well, it looks like I'm done here. Do enjoy your holiday."

Molly impulsively reached out and grabbed at a label of his familiar black coat. Sherlock looked startled as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Much like he had done to her many times before. It was quick and simple, yet held so much meaning. She released him and stepped back.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for being my friend…I, um, I treasure you. I really do." Molly stated this looking away. She quickly shoved the corpse back into its drawer. Shutting the metal door with a loud bang.

"I feel the same, Molly." Sherlock whispered, she had a feeling that he was leaning down to return her heartfelt kiss to the cheek. Before he could, however, she turned sharply away to pick up some files that she'd sat down earlier as he had entered to check on Mr. Stevin's bruises.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." She knew just how final those words sounded, yet they needed to be said.

"Molly…" There was something in his tone that made her look at him. He looked as if there was a puzzle he was desperately trying to solve. She didn't want him to solve her like a puzzle. In Sherlock's eyes there was confusion, wonder and…and concern. "What's wrong?"

She studied him as if she could burn the image forever into her brain. It took a long moment before she did her best to look happy and carefree.

"Nothing is wrong, Sherlock, absolutely nothing." Molly lied for once with ease. Desperately hoping to fool the great famous detective that she cared so much for.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed sharply. There was a cruel harshness now within those beautiful depths, before they cleared and became quite normal once more. Unexpectedly, he clapped his hands together loudly making her jump.

"When you come back from your holiday, we should do lunch or you know, dinner. Maybe even both! I do know some wonderful places where we can eat for free!" Sherlock told her with an overwhelming cheerfulness.

Molly nodded before lying once more. It was getting easier now. "Sure. I'll, um, call you."

Sherlock tilted his head. His eyes once more sharp upon her face. As if he saw something only he could see. His nose gave a sudden twitch before his face and eyes softened to give her a beautiful smile. She found herself, once again, thinking how remarkably handsome he looked.

"I'll be looking forward to your call then, Molly."

Sadness filled her. He'd have a long wait. She watched him turn away and leave. She waited a long moment as she studied the now closed door.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. So very sorry…" Molly whispered in the quietness and stillness of the morgue. Knowing that if Sherlock had heard, she wasn't sure he'd care. She closed her eyes wishing things could indeed be different. Wishing that she could be different.

She had already decided that today was the day. Already accepted what she felt she had to do.

She was going to find peace. Find rest. No more nightmares. No more living with fear that seemed to haunt her nearly every second of the day. Especially around Sherlock who could deduce anyone's secret. He always seemed to know everything with a simple, single look. She had always admired that amazing ability. Now she lived in terror of it.

Tonight she was going to end her own life.

Molly had known she couldn't end it without saying goodbye to Sherlock first. She wasn't sure why really; it was simply a strong need that wouldn't leave her as she made her final plans.

So, now that was out of the way and it was time to go home…

Tonight her book would be finished. 

~End of part 1~


	2. Chapter 2

'The fates are against you, Watson,' said he, laughing.

~The Reigate Squires by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~Part 2~*~

Molly had cleaned out her locker before she left Bart's. Putting everything in a small box, she tossed it away in a big bin outside the hospital.

She had also taken her phone and deleted photos, numbers and addresses before tossing that as well.

Molly walked home. Not caring how late it was or how far. She breathed in the night air, knowing it would be her last. Oddly enough she felt no sorrow about her action. No doubt. Nothing. She felt cold and numb really.

A violent flash of memory hit her making her almost cry out. She quickly looked around her in fear. Actually feeling as if someone was watching her from the shadows around her. Telling herself that everything would soon be okay…No, not okay, never okay…At least, soon it will be all over. Soon.

After taking some deep breaths she continued on home to her flat. Stopping to give an old man who looked as if he was high, laying cold on some flatted cardboard boxes her scarf that she'd been wearing. It had been hand knitted by her mother a few months before she had died. She had no need for it now.

A homeless woman asked for change as Molly walked by her. So she took out her wallet, slid her ID into her back pocket and handed to whole thing to her, wishing her well.

She stopped just once more. To look around her neighborhood. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she was telling London, a city she loved so much, a silent goodbye.

Molly was, however, surprised to find that tears were running silently down her cheeks. After that she moved quite quickly and with each determined step told herself that what she was about to do was a good thing. Nothing was wrong with what she was going to do. Why should anyone care if she took her own life? It was her own life to do with as she saw fit. It wasn't like she was hurting anyone. Life would go on for others…Just not for her.

She knew her own obituary would, if even that, would be a couple of sentences. She was simply a nobody who in a year's time no one would remember…

And if she was wrong, well, she'd be wrong. It wasn't like she'd be around to know otherwise.

At least, the pain would stop and the horrid fear…The fear that her awful secret would be revealed. The other night in her dreams that were a mixture of memories and nightmares…She had one that much like the awful Christmas party where Sherlock revealed so coldly her crush on him. In the dream he revealed with such brutal honestly what had happened over a month and a half ago. In the dream he had told her so cruelly that she only had herself to blame…

She had waked up sobbing with a familiar voice reminding her that she was nothing special. Never would be.

Once upon a time she thought to take one's life to be a selfish act and if it was then that was exactly what she was. Selfish. So very selfish.

She needed the pain to go away. The nightmares had to stop. She couldn't handle them anymore. It would also be nice if the fear never returned to bother her.

Was that really such a bad thing?

When Molly got to her flat, she double checked everything. It was all boxed up and most of it was labeled for 'charity'.

It had been painful but she had given Toby, her lovely cat, to a sweet old lady across the opposite flat to hers. Along with the cat food, litter, bowls and toys that she had given to Toby over the years

So she wouldn't be a bother, everything was perfectly cleaned. She'd taken her trash out to the bins just that morning. There was nothing in her freezer of refrigerator. Everything seemed ready. There was nothing left to do, really.

Her note that she'd written just this morning was paper clipped to her last will and testament as well as any other important papers.

Molly took her time walking around her flat. Double checking everything, one last time. Molly had a small box marked for John and Mary. Just a few books and little things she thought they might enjoy. A beautiful tea pot with matching cups sat in Mrs. Hudson's box. Of course, Sherlock had a box; in it was a future birthday present nicely wrapped. She closed her eyes as she touched the box labeled with his name.

She wasn't sure how long it was before she moved away from that box. Yet, when she did, Molly yanked her hair tie out, letting her hair flow freely from what had once been in a pony tail. She moved without much thought to her balcony. She had always loved her balcony. In the past she'd sit for hours reading or watching the lively and lovely city she lived in.

It was the one thing she loved about her flat. The high balcony with the great beautiful view.

Molly opened the screen door and stepped out. The wind caught her in what seemed like an angry hiss. As if nature itself didn't agree with what she was about to do. What she needed to do.

Coldness, which seemed to have become a permanent friend, filled her completely. With certainty, she knew she'd never be warm again. Inside something had frozen itself over a month and a half ago.

She dimly thought she heard a soft sound behind her. Whatever it was honestly didn't matter. Not anymore. Nothing mattered now. Molly looked down, knowing she was several floors up.

It was never the fall that killed it was the sudden stop!

She smiled bitterly at the thought. Tears started to fall once more. She let them. The tears couldn't stop her. The wind seemed gentle now as if it was trying to comfort her. Now, accepting what she must do.

Peace would be hers. Molly moved with grace she didn't normally have to swing her legs over the railing. Still she continued to look down. Leaning forward slightly she refused to look away. In no way would she close her eyes. Not now. She needed to see her death coming. To know that peace and much needed rest would soon be hers for all eternity. No more nightmares. No more bad memories. No more horrible secrets, she feared would be revealed.

She would not regret this. Never this.

Molly took a deep breath and allowed her steady hand to slowly move from the railing. She leaned forward to her death to suddenly gasp.

She didn't fall.

In fact, she couldn't, not with what felt like a hard band of steel around her throat and an even stronger band of iron around her waist.

Molly tried to struggle but it honestly seemed like a big waste of energy as she was lifted and dragged back to her flat. To surprisingly, be tossed carelessly to the carpeted floor. She stared at her living room floor in stunned disbelief as if she'd never noticed it before. With a shaking hand at her throat she slowly looked up to see Sherlock standing over her.

He looked so very dangerous. A powerful storm about to rage out of control. There seemed to be an intense fire that blazed strong and true within those eyes that stared at her in anger and disbelief. The emotional eyes seemed out of place in that cold and harsh face of his.

"How long…" Sherlock began to come to a sudden stop. He looked around coldly and clinically before he looked down at her to speak, once more. "How long have you been planning…this, Molly?"

Molly moved carefully and slowly to stand up. "You are the great and brilliant Sherlock Holmes, how about you figure it out."

The words had come out quite bitterly. A hatred she hadn't known could exist within her nearly choked her with its strength. He had no right to stop her, no right at all!

"I'm thinking that you've been planning this for a while. I see that you've packed everything so nice and neat. Look, it's even labeled! No mess. No worry. No one to go through your things for you already went through everything. Threw away a lot and giving quite a lot away, hmmm? Tell me, Molly, did you leave a note?" Sherlock asked her.

Molly silently looked over to her kitchen counter where her note and last will and testament lay.

"Oh, of course, you'd write one." Sherlock answered his own question in a completely matter of fact way, looking over to the counter. "So, did you explain things?" He asked. "Is it a lovely heartfelt note, Molly? Hmmm? Tell me, did you apologize too? Did you?"

"I wrote a nice simple note, yes. I felt no need to explain myself or even apologize." Molly informed him before lying. "However, I wrote a line just for you. Something about how you could go screw yourself."

"Nice." Sherlock stated with a nod, as if he totally believed her. "I'm sure I'm going to enjoy reading what you wrote. Though, while I'm reading it, you can be certain of the fact that I'm not going to let you get away with it, Molly. Murdering yourself. It's not going to happen. Not today, in fact, not ever!"

Cold bitter fury raced through her. "You…You can't watch me twenty-four seven, Sherlock. There is no way *you* can stop me. For it's *my* life and I can bloody end it if I want too!"

She didn't think it possible, yet Sherlock's face became colder, a harsh cruel granite. For some reason she thought of an engraved stone she'd seen once of a snarling wolf. So very deadly. She felt her heart skip a beat.

"You really believe that don't you?" Sherlock asked softly. Oh so softly.

Her intense fury evaporated to be replaced with a deep sudden fear. She has never once been afraid of Sherlock, yet at this very moment…

She took a deep breath and did the only thing she could do.

She fled.

Molly wasn't a bit surprised when she didn't get very far.

~end of Part 2~


	3. Chapter 3

'_**Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth was still discovered.'**_

-The Yellow Face by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~Part 3~*~

"So, would you like to play another game of Cluedo? I have the game Operation it that interests you instead."

Molly turned her head to numbly look at Sherlock. He looked so calm and handsome simply sitting next to her on his sofa over at 221 Baker Street. Sunlight poured brightly in, the rays so strong it made her tired red eyes sore.

"I don't…I don't want to play any games. Not Operation and not bloody Cluedo. The murder victim cannot be the murderer."

"It really is the only possible solution that makes any sense!"

Molly watched her hand swing unwillingly with his own sharp movement. Sherlock then placed his long fingers together under his chin. Her wrist still dangled near his. The shiny handcuffs that kept them together seemed to mock her.

Her eyes narrowed on the cuffs with an anger that made her want to start raging and hitting at this man who she had once felt certain she had loved. Perhaps still loved…

"Trust me, Molly; the victim can be the murderer just as well." Sherlock stated softly and thoughtfully.

Trust him…

Molly studied him with a deep bitterness she couldn't understand.

She thought at first the key to the cuffs was in his coat pockets. So she had tried to covertly search the coat on the cab ride over to Baker Street. Now, she was certain it was on his left side…

Her eyes locked with his for a moment before she looked away.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked, her throat feeling raw. "I'm so very tired. Why aren't you tired?"

"I can stay up for days if necessary, but Molly, my dear sweet Molly; you can rest if you want. I won't stop you. I will, however, still be cuffed to you when you wake up." As he stated those words he had ran his other hand, his free hand, to caress tenderly at her cheek.

In return for his tenderness, she slapped him hard. She tried not to feel guilty at his wounded look. At least his fingers left her cheek to touch his own.

Sherlock tilted his head to study her. Eyes extremely thoughtful and quite sad. "When did you stop…" He suddenly cleared his throat before he took a deep breath to try once more, "What did I do to make you stop trusting me?"

Molly felt as if he had just struck her back in a brutal fashion. Silence filled the room. All she could hear was her own breathing that seemed to get deeper with every second.

A horrible memory rushed at her. Savage, harsh and so very cruel. It was a memory that she didn't want.

If it hadn't been for Sherlock those horrible memories would no longer be haunting her. They wouldn't be breaking and tearing her apart.

"Not everything is about you, Sherlock." She informed him, not wanting him to see just how damaged and broken she really was.

"It is, Molly, it is when you try to take your own life! It is when you don't come to me and tell me what's wrong. All the women I care for in my life never seem to come to me when they have problems! Please, Molly, please talk to me now! I'll do my best not to put you on mute or filter you, no matter how boring you might be! You know I don't like making vows but I will make on if I must, to listen to you. What you can't do…What I will do with all my power to stop is you hurting yourself. You are hurting right now! Please, Molly, tell me why?! Please…" Sherlock, a man known never to beg said each word with a deep rare passion.

Molly still felt so very cold. Inside, there seemed to be nothing but a numb painful ice. Nothing could warm her. Nothing, not even Sherlock's heartfelt words. There was a time they would have warmed her like a hot cup of tea but now…She was too frozen to care.

"I'm not one of your clients." Molly reminded him. Feeling as if she was talking from far away.

"No, you are not." Sherlock agreed. "You are a friend. *MY* friend, Molly, and as a friend I deduce that something bad happened…I'm thinking it happened about a month and a half ago…"

"NO!" Molly shouted, yanking her arm violently not caring if the handcuffs cut savagely into her skin or what the cuff might do to Sherlock. "Don't you dare! You have no right! No bloody right to use your gift on me! You bastard! You cruel miserable bastard! Let me go! LET ME GO!" 

She attempted to stand and yank even harder. Sherlock was an unmovable stone. When he did move, it was to take a small green and white pillow that normally rested on his sofa to begin to smack her lightly with it. With a loud scream she fell.

"Calm down!" Sherlock growled following her to the floor. "Calm, the bloody down!"

As he straddled her, the sound of a throat clearing filled the air. Both Sherlock and Molly froze to look toward the doorway.

"Oh! Hello, John." Sherlock said sounding pleasantly surprised.

While Sherlock was focused on his best friend, Dr. John Watson, Molly quickly and carefully went for his left pocket.

"So…Sherlock…mate…What's going on?" John asked trying to sound casual.

Molly held her breath as her fingers felt a small metal key, before her fingers could completely capture it she was hit once more with the pillow. A bit harder this time. Forcing her hand away from the pocket that could give her freedom.

"It seems we are having a little domestic, John." Sherlock explained before speaking to her, as he smacked her again with the pillow. "Leave the pick pocketing to professionals, like myself."

Molly had no choice but to turn wildly, desperate eyes towards John. "Please, John, please help me…He'll listen to you. Tell him to let me go, please….please…"

Sherlock dropped the pillow and moved to help her sit up.

"Sherlock, why is Molly handcuffed to you?" John questioned there was something in his tone that made the great detective straighten to eye him curiously. As if he wasn't sure why his best friend would ask such a crazy thing.

"Why? Well, it's Molly's fault really. She challenged me. Said there was no way I could watch her twenty-four/ seven." Sherlock lifted his wrist to wave his hand around, taking Molly's along for the ride. "This is me, proving her wrong."

"Sherlock…" John began to gently lecture him. "Handcuffing Molly to prove a point—"

"She is also on suicide watch." Sherlock cut in quickly and quite seriously.

John looked at them in complete surprise before he knelt down to be more at their level.

"Molly?" He asked quietly, eyes full of concern with a mixture of disbelief.

She found herself looking away, with nothing to say.

"I stopped her." Sherlock stated honestly. "Within seconds. She keeps asking me to let her go so she can kill herself. I'm not going to let that happen, John. I can't let that happen. No way in hell will I let that happen. I don't have many regrets and I refuse to let her become one of them."

Molly used both of her hands to cover her face, not caring if she forced his hand to follow. After a moment she lowered them to look at Sherlock's best friend.

"This…" Molly touched the metal bracelet that kept her attached to Sherlock. "Is wrong, maybe I'm wrong too though I doubt it, but this…" She shook her head to admit in horror, "John, Sherlock won't even let me go to the bathroom by myself!"

"Oh, do please stop acting so Victorian. Everyone goes to the bathroom. Hell, I closed my eyes what more do you want!?"

"Sherlock!" John hissed at him.

"What? Seriously, I don't see anything wrong with handcuffing Molly to myself to keep her safe. What I do have a problem with is her trying to take her own life! I have a problem with her not trusting me! Not coming to me—"

"Well, I have a serious problem with having you stand over me while I use the toilet!" Molly shouted angrily, interrupting him.

"I had no problem with you standing with me when it was my turn…" Sherlock stated carelessly with a shrug.

"I had a problem with that too! God, Sherlock, there is something seriously wrong with you!" Molly informed him with great malice. She suddenly looked away with a wince as she caught the brief flash of hurt that crossed Sherlock's face.

Molly took a deep breath before she said softly with a great deal of honestly, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to cause you pain. Nothing is wrong with you. Nothing."

"Yet there is something wrong with—"Sherlock had begun to say before stopping and carefully lifting the wrist that was cuffed to him. He now cradled it with his free hand as well.

"John, there's some ugly red marks forming. She must have gotten it when she was yanking quite hard a moment ago. I fear she's hurt herself."

John came forward and looked to Molly as if asking for permission to touch her. She jerked slightly wondering if he had somehow guessed or knew her terrible secret. What if it was indeed out?

A flash of memory shot though her, making her not want to be touched. Not by John not by anyone, really.

Panic filled her for an overwhelming moment before she forced herself to calm down and give a slight nod. She had to remind herself that it was only John and he would never hurt her or judge her.

Sherlock's eyes were sharp on her face before he closed them tight. "Oh, Molly." He breathed, looking slightly ill.

Oh, God…Please not that. No! She didn't want anyone to know, especially Sherlock. It would destroy whatever was left inside her that hadn't been so savagely broken already.

"It looks good, actually, the wrist." John's voice seemed suddenly far away. As he studied the wrist for any damage. "There's a good chance it won't even bruise."

Sherlock seemed a bit better before gently taking the wrist back with a nod, "I tried not to put them on her to tightly, John, even after I tackled her."

"You tackled her?" John asked carefully. A flash of hot anger revealed itself in his eyes.

"She ran so I went on total instinct. I wasn't planning on tackling her. I did my best not to hurt her and it really wasn't what one could call a tackle, anyway. It was more like a leap and seize with the intention of stopping her. If she hadn't have ran there is a strong possibility I wouldn't have…However, I still would have handcuffed her to myself."

"Oh, of course, you would have." John stated matter of factly, moving back to give them room.

After a moment of silence with Sherlock still holding her wrist, his fingers seeming to caress it tenderly. His eyes on the small bright red marks that embraced her pale skin. It didn't hurt. It was what was inside herself that was painfully raw and bruised. Her nightmares never let her rest for long and the pain of the reality burned the edges of her every waking moment.

Tears started to flow; she made no move to wipe them for her already red cheeks. She hadn't known she had anymore tears left to cry.

"You've figured it out haven't you?" Molly said in a painful hoarse whisper, "You should have just let me jump, Sherlock. I should be dead right now. You had no right stopping me. None at all. Why…Why couldn't you have let me die?"

His fingers tightened on her wrist, not in any way that was painful, simply there resting tight upon her soft skin.

"Your wrist is quite beautiful. I never noticed that before, Molly, never. Your pulse is actually like music. A song, I never once noticed. I'm trying to understand the mystery of why I missed that. I'm a man with great observation skills and I never once noticed that…"

Sherlock turned slightly and began to gently wipe away her tears with his free hand.

"Sherlock…" She knew that in that one word was full of all her heartbreak and despair.

His free hand came to a rest on her cheek as he leaned in close to place his forehead upon hers.

"Yes, I know, Molly, I know…"Sherlock admitted so very softly as if each word caused him great pain, perhaps he even suspected it would shatter her as a hammer would hitting a plate glass window.

Molly began to sob hard. She wept as she never wept before. All her sorrow and pain came out in horrible sobs. She wasn't sure when Sherlock did it but the cuff from her wrist seemed to have vanished as his arms around her replaced the band of steel.

When her sobs slowed and her tears fell she found herself speaking the words, the horrible secret that she hadn't wanted anyone, especially Sherlock to know.

"He raped me…He did things to me and…and he recorded it. He told me that if I told anyone, went to the police he'd put it on the net. Then everyone would see that I was his whore…"

The arms stayed around her. They were steadfast in keeping her safe as she fell apart.

"Tell me please, Molly, everything. So I can find and destroy the recording and more importantly crush this bastard into dust."

She didn't want to tell him everything. Didn't want to tell him more about her real nightmare that wouldn't go away. What she really wanted to do, he seemed determined to stop.

"Why? Why couldn't you have let me die? Why?"

"Because I'm a very selfish man and I need you in my life. Now, tell me, Molly so I can fix this."

"You can't fix this, Sherlock, not this—"

"Give me a chance to try, Molly, please…Let me try."

She shook her head before resting her head on his shoulder.

"I can't tell you everything, I can't! He said I was his whore…and I can't…can't…" Molly told him with complete honesty. The memories were too raw and savage to reveal openly.

"Then tell me what you can. You are not in any way *his* whore. You are not a whore at all. You are in no way to blame for his awful actions. Molly, you are *my* Molly. MINE. Just like John is *my* best friend. John, Mary, the baby, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and you are an important part of my world. Everyone in my world is just that mine. The only thing in my world that's mine I don't want is my brother."

Molly felt her lips curve into a brief smile at that. "I heard he's rubbish as a big brother."

"That's true. Very true." Sherlock told her nodding to himself in agreement.

Molly sighed, feeling safe in Sherlock's arms. For a moment, she felt almost valued. Maybe even loved? Though she knew she was no longer worthy of that. Molly closed her eyes. "Am I really yours, Sherlock?"

"Always, Molly, always…"

"Really? No matter what?" She asked, desperately needing to know the truth.

"No matter what." Sherlock promised. "You are my Molly. My dear sweet Molly, always mine."

With her eyes still closed she slowly shared her nightmare, her horrible memory with him. Allowing him to hold her throughout. She trusted him in so many ways and rebuilt whatever trust she, in her fear and shame, purposely lost in him.

Then afterwards…

Well, afterwards, Sherlock kept his promise.

She was still his.

End of Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Note: In one of Doyle's stories 'The Abbey Grange' where Holmes talks about Watson being worthy enough to be the British jury. Thought it would be fun to include that in the story…Also, there was an old interview where Martin Freeman stated that John was Sherlock's moral compass and thought it would be fun to have that as well…So here you have it!

'I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining what is obvious…'

~The Devil's Foot by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~ PART 4 ~*~

Molly wasn't sure how or when she found herself curled up on Sherlock's sofa. She wasn't even sure how long she had slept. A blanket now lay upon her and she knew she hadn't put it there.

The only movement she could do it seemed was to blink occasionally. Molly felt totally drained mentally and yet her body felt so numb and so very cold.

Sound, of course, carried and she could hear two very familiar voices coming from the kitchen. Trying to be soft so not to disturb her supposed sleep yet she could still hear them clearly. Thing was, lately, sleep never kept her in its grip for long.

She was simply thankful that she hadn't woken in the middle of one of her nightmares, screaming bloody murder, or thinking the man who had hurt her was in the room with her.

"Need more tea?" Sherlock was heard asking John.

"Hmm, please. Though after finding out what happened to Molly…I wouldn't mind something a bit stronger."

"No. I need you with a clear head." Sherlock told him. There was a soft sound of liquid filling a cup. "I also need you to stay with Molly when I go out."

"So, you are going to look for him, right away then…" John didn't really bother to ask this as a question at all, simply as a certainty.

"John, I know your intelligence isn't very high at times but obviously I am going to find him. Then I will crush all the bones in his hands into nothing but jagged little bits and pieces."

"Jesus, Sherlock…You have no name to go on! Molly was abducted from a shopping mall parking lot, taken to some hellhole and afterwards the bloody damn bastard drove her home. Letting her know that he knew where she lived. Just another form of mental fear and torment…"

"He probably got her address from her wallet." Sherlock informed him coldly. "It could take days, perhaps even longer. The thing is that car park is part of his hunting ground, he feels…comfortable there. He feels in complete control. Molly, I am quite certain was not the first victim or the last. He will return to hunt there at some point. She gave a good description of what he looks like and his car. With the help of my homeless network…I will find him and I will make the universe right once more."

"Sherlock…Tell me, are you going to kill this man?" John asked curiously. "For there is something very dangerous about you right now."

There was a long silence.

"I want too." Sherlock finally admitted. "I can quite easily kill this stranger and not lose a moment of sleep."

"But?" John asked softly. Seeming to desperately want to know what was going through his best friend's mind.

"I want him to know why I'm hurting him. I want him to know my Molly is special and in no way trash or a whore. He had no right even touching her, John, no right whatsoever."

"I know." John agreed softly.

"I want to damage, destroy and crush him. Killing him would be too quick of an escape for him. She can't escape her nightmares of what he did to her. She can't escape it so why in the hell should he? I want him to be the one without control and the best way to break him would be for him to lose his freedom. Throw him in a jail cell and if he ever gets out I'll be there. His own personal nightmare. Simply waiting like a spider in its web. The only safe place would be his cell and even then that would be highly questionable. I want him to be as tormented as he tormented my Molly…Unless…"

"Unless?"

"Do you want a biscuit, John? I know Mrs. Hudson put them somewhere around here." Sherlock told him as cabinet doors were opened and shut.

"If you find them, sure I'll have one or two biscuits…Maybe even three…But do finish what you were about to say for you know I simply hate it when you cut yourself off thinking you've told me when you haven't." John informed him honestly. "It's annoying really."

"What if after I catch him, I help Molly kill him? Hmmm….I can take care of everything. There will be absolutely no connection between them. I can make it the perfect murder. Hell, I bet I can keep the body from being found for over a decade. Perhaps, even longer…maybe it will never be found…"

"Oh, I'm sure you could." John agreed readily, sounding a little shocked at the idea of Sherlock's. "The thing is…Molly would not kill this man with or without your help. She's not you, she's not Mary and she's not me. We've all killed but Molly—"

"She's only willing to kill herself." Sherlock finished sadly.

"Yeah." John breathed just as sadly. "She'd probably kill in self defense or even to save your life, yet be haunted by it for the rest of her life."

"How do I make her want to live, John? How do I fix…her…this…" Sherlock actually sounded lost.

John didn't speak for a long moment. Perhaps to gather his thoughts or to sip his tea. Maybe even both as the sound of a mug setting itself back down upon the hardness of the table.

"There is therapy. We can get here a really good therapist. With time maybe so group counseling to let her see she's not alone. More importantly we just have to be there for her. Let her know we care and love her. If she needs us we're here for her. We can't manipulate her. *You* can't manipulate her, you do and you'll lose her. We can't force her to be our Molly of old. We accept her as she is and if one day she ends it all….We will have to accept that to."

Something crashed and broke in Sherlock's kitchen; she wasn't sure what it was that had made the noise but it made her jerk in surprise.

"I refuse to accept that." Sherlock's voice was hard and so cold, as if each word was made completely of ice.

"Sherlock…"

"She'll get better, she has too." Sherlock's tone was normal once more. "Isn't there some old saying that says 'time heals all wounds' or 'time heals everything'…"

John was quiet for awhile, "Something like that, yeah…" He finally stated, "It's complete rubbish however. Time doesn't heal. Hope does, time is what brings it. Right now, Molly is feeling hopeless, fearful, violated and very ashamed." 

"She doesn't need to feel that way, John. It's stupid to feel that way!"

"Well, she's human, Sherlock. There is nothing stupid about that. Just like all those emotions you are experiencing right now makes you human as well."

"I'm not use to…to feeling this way. I'm not a man to be run by emotions easily. Yesterday, Molly texted me about a body that had come in which had been donated to science. She wanted to know if I'd come in, perhaps take some fingers or toes…Maybe an eye or two. I just wanted to study bruising upon the corpse's neck and I made conversion. Which by the way, Molly informed me that I've gotten better at, John."

"Good for you. I'm quite proud of you really." John stated, before Sherlock continued…

"Molly told me you would be. Anyway, we talked and then she surprised me. Gave me a kiss on the cheek. Told me that she treasured me and thanked me for being a friend. She turned away from me before I could give her one in return. She told me 'goodbye', John, it sounded so…final. So very permanent…It sounded so very wrong. To be honest, for a single moment, just a moment mind you, I thought…I thought I had to be mistaken and I nearly went ahead and walked away…"

"Sherlock…"

"Instead I asked her what was wrong and she lied to me, John. I could see it quite clearly. The word calling her a liar was all over her. A moment later she lied to me a second time. Again she was clearly mendacious. Later, I followed her home afterwards. Something telling me to do so. I didn't like what I witnessed, John, I didn't like it at all. If I had ignored that goodbye…John, I'd be…I'd be looking at her corpse wondering what the hell happened. Something inside me is breaking at that horrible thought. I honestly don't know what it is but all I know is that it hurts!"

"Yeah, it's the same bloody thing that broke inside me when you committed suicide…or at least, when I thought I had witnessed your death!" John told him honestly. From his tone the memory was still quite sore obviously.

"I am sorry! I've told you that a million times...I am, you know, sorry." Sherlock finished the last sentence softly with heartfelt sentiment.

"I know. I even forgave you; it doesn't mean I still don't feel a little pissed about it. I'm just thankful that you're alive, but now I have a feeling you no longer find what you did as funny. Hell, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you had at first tried to figure out how to jump out of a cake in front of me." Sherlock must have looked guilty for John to reply, "Yeah, I thought so."

"You saw me jump. You later saw what you thought was me broken and dead on the sidewalk. I hurt you. I never want to hurt you like that again." Sherlock sounded completely honest.

"Good. That's real good. For I'd never fake my death with you, Sherlock. If I'm dead, I'm staying dead. If someone kills me…guess what, I'm still staying dead!"

"If someone ever kills you, John, I promise you they will not live for long."

"It's nice to know you care, Sherlock, I do believe you mean that."

"I do mean it, I really do. I mean every word. John, Molly nearly jumped, if I hadn't…There is a picture in my head of her laying broken on the ground, her blood all around her and I can't seem to delete it!"

"Finally more proof that you are human. I've always known it but to actually have proof…" John informed him dryly.

"You blog about it and I'll do something…I'm not sure what but there is a strong possibility your laptop will be thrown under a bus!"

"Oh, goody, an excuse to buy a newer model." John said with a chuckle before becoming serious, "I'm not planning to write anything about today."

"Good." Sherlock sounded almost thankful. "Very good. She didn't want the world to know not even those she cares about to know. So thank you…"

"We must protect those we love, at least we try to…If…When you find this man, you said you'd hand him and the proof of what he is over to the police…"

"After I've hurt him and made a lasting impression, yes." Sherlock stated matter of factly.

"Molly…" John said her name as if he had something in his throat.

Sherlock seemed to understand the meaning behind how he said her name. "I told you I was going to make the universe right once more. I informed Molly, that I was going to destroy the recording and any copies this bastard has made. I will do exactly what I said I would do. Molly is not going to be questioned by the police; there will be no trial for her to deal with. She won't feel as if she's surrounded by wolves. No one will judge her or make her feel judged. He has raped others. The likely hood is that he has recorded them as well. I will hand that evidence over to the police never once with the mention Molly and with a broken jaw; I highly doubt our rapist will speak of her either. Molly has enough to deal with, the other women, well they will have to deal with it. To be honest, John, I'm more concerned about Molly then them, right now. Hopefully, these women will prove themselves as survivors not victims just as Molly will one day…Hopefully, one day…I'm…hopeful that one day she will be strong enough…"

"Sherlock…"

"John, you are at times more than my best friend. You are my…my mortal compass. I know of no greater man who could represent a British jury, or what they should be. To be honest, you are the only one I would ever allow to judge me. Tell me honestly; am I really guilty of great wrong in this matter?"

It seemed to take forever for John to reply but when he did his voice was steady, certain, and strong.

"No, you're not guilty at all. Go get that bloody bastard, Sherlock."

Sometime later, Sherlock seemed to whirl into the room. Molly quickly closed her eyes. She felt rather than saw Sherlock kneel down to where she was at.

"Molly…" He spoke softly, his hand gently caressing her head. "John is going to stay with you and Mrs. Hudson will visit in an hour or so. Just remember that I…treasure you and our friendship." He lightly kissed her cheek.

In what seemed like seconds he was gone.

Molly opened her eyes.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she actually felt a little bit warmer.

End of part 4


	5. Chapter 5

'It was worth a wound-it was worth many wounds-to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.'

~The Three Garridebs by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~PART FIVE~*~

Some days were harder than others.

Molly calmly sat on the roof top of Bart's Hospital. It was a clear night and the stars that shone down looked quite beautiful against the black velvet sky. Down below life was moving. Life was being lived at the moment it seemed to be moving at a fast pace. The cars and the people reminded her that she was still living. Still breathing.

The sharp breeze was cold and made her shiver. Molly knew she should go in, perhaps even go home, but she wasn't ready to do that just yet.

For earlier before her shift had ended completely she'd had a very bad moment. Molly had been in the elevator when two strangers talked about the trial of a serial rapist. A serial rapist, Sherlock Holmes, the detective in the funny hat, had brought to justice. The serial rapist, very man who had raped her. A man that had been beaten severely, who Sherlock had sworn to Greg Lestrade that he had found him that way…

Molly had felt so sick as memories had overwhelmed her. Her heart had pounded so hard within her chest that it had seriously hurt. Sweaty and feeling uncontrollably scared. It had been a serious panic attack and she had escaped the elevator as if her life depended on it.

So now she found herself up here on the roof top of Bart's Hospital. The very same roof top that Sherlock, himself had used to fake his own death.

Molly knew even after a few months she no longer needed to be scared and a part of her was deeply ashamed over her own response. What she had suffered through during the rape. The horrible pain, overwhelming terror that during the moment had been worse than the intense pain. The shame, degradation, fear, shame and the shock that came afterwards.

She still wished that none of it had happened to her. Wished with all her might that the pain, shame, nightmares and memories would simply go away.

Yet, nothing was ever truly simple, was it?

As she looked down at the life going on down below her, she wondered if she had great deductive reasoning skills like Sherlock what would she know about those two people she was focused on at the moment? Were they lovers, good friends or even family?

What was their story?

A breeze caught her making her teeth raddle and she shivered violently. No, she was staying out here. No matter how cold it was.

'The picture of the man…He looked so ordinary... Hard to believe…They said they showed some of the tapes at the trial…Still have more to go through…It's horrid stuff…Personally, I'm glad that the detective in that funny hat had beaten the hell out of that man…'

That was some of the conversion she'd over heard in the elevator…

Molly gasped as something heavy and warm fell upon her shoulders. She was stunned to turn around and see Sherlock. She was not sure way really. He seemed to stop by more often than he used to. He'd check in to see how she was and what she was doing. He'd even text her randomly, at all hours and heaven forbid if she didn't answer right away. He'd come and find her with extremely worried eyes that would turn to a brilliant anger. It was annoying, his weird fear yet she knew he was simply concerned.

To be honest, it was nice at times, knowing he cared. Other times she just wanted to punch him. When she shared that with John he had told her that he completely understood. More then she'd ever know.

Molly quickly wrapped herself up in Sherlock's coat. Breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth.

"Thanks." She muttered.

Sherlock nodded before informing her, "I don't like you out here."

"Why?" Molly questioned without thinking, before sighing because Sherlock's look spoke volumes. "I'm not going to do anything bad, Sherlock."

"Yet anyway." Sherlock stated before asking. "Are you okay?"

His eyes were sharp and searching for the truth. Watching for any lie. Perhaps even mentally readying his handcuffs.

Molly nodded slowly. "I have bad moments. Sometimes more than bad moments. Really bad days. I think…I think I'm doing better. A little bit better, anyway. My therapist says I just need to take things slowly. One day at a time and if I have doubts try a minute at a time. It's hard knowing I'll never forget, that I have to deal with what happened to me. More importantly, I have to live with it."

She wished she could tell Sherlock not to worry any more. That she'd never…But she knew he'd always catch her in a lie.

"There are moments," Molly carefully continued, "that I can do a minute and then things are a bit…better. I find I'm a bit more…hopeful after. You know, Sherlock, you don't have to check up on me every day. You have better things to do. You have your mysteries and cases to solve and figure out…You don't need to worry about my life…You have your own to worry about."

"I really don't have better things to do." Sherlock cut in. "Yes, I have my mysteries, my many adventures and my countless cases but just as I must have my mental palace and air to breathe I have this need to know you are okay. Your *life* is very important to me…"

The cold breeze hit her in a way that made her eyes water forcing her to wrap herself tighter within his coat.

"Okay. I wish I could say I understand, but I don't. I know there is a reason and given time I'm certain that you'll get bored-"

"Molly." Sherlock cut in on her babbling. "You don't have to understand to know that I care, even on the days I'm bored. When it comes to you…I seriously doubt you'll ever bore me."

Molly blinked at him before saying softly. "That's nice of you to say. Real nice."

"I can be nice when I want to be. No matter what John might say in his blog." Sherlock informed her dryly before repeating himself. "I don't like you out here."

Molly tilted her head to study him. "Well, someone nailed and painted my balcony door shut."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he smiled looking highly proud of himself.

"It will take me hours to fix," Molly found herself saying, "And when that happens and it will happen, Sherlock that door better say the way I fixed it or I swear I'll nail and paint something of yours shut!"

His smile faded and his eyes narrowed before a flash of anticipation and happiness fell upon his face. "Well, I guess, my dear sweet Molly, we'll be making a game of this because each time you get that door opened; I'll be there with even more creative ways of keeping that door closed."

Molly shook her head. Knowing he spoke the truth. Of course he'd see it as a game. "Sometimes I really do hate you, Sherlock."

He moved closer and sat down beside her. "Yet, you love me far more than you could ever hate me."

"Sherlock, d-don't be cruel. You know I hate it when you are cruel to me." Molly stated miserably. Pain piercing her. She was finding it hard to breathe.

"I'm not. At least I don't mean anything bad about it. You have a big heart, Molly Hooper. You care very deeply. What I meant…I simply meant that you love…You love Ms. Hudson, John, Mary, their little one, also anyone you term as friend…So, you love me in return, for you see me as a friend, yes?"

Suddenly she felt she could breathe once more.

"Yes…Yes, of course, you are my friend, Sherlock." Molly admitted finally.

"I like being your friend, Molly, I really do." Sherlock told her as if sharing a huge secret with her.

Hearing a car horn blare, she looked over and down to the traffic below her. She watched in silence with Sherlock watching her. Studying her so very closely. It was odd yet it didn't bother her at all. With all the times she had studied him…She actually felt safe knowing he was at her side.

Knowing that Sherlock being the high-functioning sociopath actually allowed himself to care about her…

It meant the world to her. It really did.

No matter how bad her memories and nightmares got he seemed to be close by. To sooth and comfort her when she so desperately needed it. On a really bad day she was at times thankful of the fact he cared. He could, at times, be a loyal friend. Yet, sometimes her thankfulness would fall to the waste side and she would simply want the raw pain and torment to go away. When she was certain she was alone she seriously thought about ending it, truly escape it all. She no longer focused on jumping off her balcony or flying off a tall roof. There were other ways flouting inside her head. Not that she would, yet anyway, the thought was simply there. Never seeming to be far away.

Molly's focus on the traffic below became so sharp it seemed to blur everything all at once.

"Molly…" Sherlock's voice seemed so far away. As if he was talking to her from a deep dark tunnel. "Molly…" He repeated, making her blink, forcing her to look at him and not at the traffic.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly asked, she could feel a headache slowly coming on. A small part of her now wished he'd go away. Only a small part…

"Are you having a bad moment?" Sherlock asked softly and carefully.

Molly nodded and looked away feeling oddly ashamed. One day, he'd probably regret making her live.

"Oh, my dear sweet Molly…" Sherlock seemed to sigh those words with an unfamiliar tenderness.

She was surprised when she suddenly had two warm hands cup her face. Firm lips were on hers. Slowly, Sherlock kissed her. As the kiss deepened, something inside her that she had felt certain had died a violent death gave a faint pulse of life. She slowly, cautiously returned the kiss. Allowing herself to enjoy the warmth and the long forgotten feelings that were reawakening themselves. At the moment she remembered what it felt like to be alive. Truly alive and be, for a second, grateful about it.

For only a moment anyway before she forced herself to pull back and end the kiss.

Sherlock looked stunned, either by the wonderful kiss or the fact that she was to one to pull away first. Molly wasn't sure of which surprised him, maybe it was both.

"Don't, Sherlock, don't you dare…play me. I know your methods, you can be so coldly manipulative to get what you want; be it for a case or…or…To get what you want…Just don't."

She moved to stand up and leave to be stopped in place, as Sherlock grabbed her wrist and arm, she slowly allowed herself to remain seated next to him.

"Yes. Molly my methods can be cold and harsh. Sometimes even cruel. You, however, are not a case. A mystery, yes. A wonderful, delightful mystery that I don't totally understand as of yet. Normally when I kiss someone there is indeed a calculated reason behind it. For the first time, only time, I simply wanted to kiss you because I wanted to, needed to." Sherlock looked confused, "I really don't understand why."

"I'm a mystery to you?" Molly asked, feeling bewildered.

Sherlock nodded, answering softly, "Yes, one that I hope to solve one day. I do know that I can't ever play you for the day I do, I will lose you. Your trust and friendship do matter to me, Molly. Even when I error greatly, *you* matter. Yes, I want you to live but I'd never manipulate you into doing that. Manipulation never lasts forever."

Molly found herself slowly relaxing against him. She laid her head against his shoulder before eyeing the stars. They were so beautiful. She was uncertain about what to say. Should she believe his words? Trust them…Trust *him*?

"I am so screwed up, Sherlock…So very screwed up." Molly found herself admitting. In a way she hated herself for saying that. For knowing just how true those words were. She wished she wasn't so damn broken. So very damaged.

"Screwed up or not screwed up…You are my Molly. To me you are somebody…Somebody very special." Sherlock said putting an arm around her.

"Sherlock, don't lie…"Molly told him, brokenly. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I swear to you, my dear sweet Molly, I speak nothing but the truth. One day…hopefully…I will make a believer out of you."

"I don't know how to respond to that, Sherlock, I really don't. But maybe with time…I'll believe…Maybe." Molly whispered, allowing him to hold her. Knowing she needed this moment somehow.

"And maybe with time, I'll solve that great mystery that is you…" Sherlock whispered right back. His hand around her wrist, feeling her pulse with his long fingers.

"I'll try to give you time to figure it out." Molly promised softly, hoping for once that she could actually do just that. Live. That just might be the hardest and bravest thing she'd ever had to do.

Even if she only stayed Sherlock's friend and nothing more…She'd do her best to live…

That thought left her feeling almost hopeful about that future. Almost anyway, maybe, she would get better. The nightmares and memories were still overwhelmingly bad, still quite painful, they always would be; but maybe she could be strong enough to survive them…Perhaps…It might be possible. Maybe, the brokenness within her would heal…

Perhaps the damage wasn't unfixable…

Maybe…

Molly closed her eyes, her head still on Sherlock's shoulder.

"It really is quite a beautiful melody." Sherlock said thoughtfully, mostly talking to himself, yet, Molly knew he was speaking of the pulse under her skin.

Thinking he was weird in a wonderful way, Molly felt a small soft smile grace her face.

For now, she was looking forward to tomorrow.

~*~THE END for now~*~

(I am working on a sequel, well more like a series of stories really, so be warned. I'm not really ready to fully leave this world…If you aren't ready to leave this world with me feel free to let me know)


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